Oath
by Exdeamon
Summary: A backstory of the elven paladin Luthiena on her story to join with a party of strange adventurers. Deals with her past and her trials on the route to fame. Rated T for safety and blood.
1. Standing ground

Well, new story and once again its not mine. Standered disclaimers, I don't own anything here, my friend owns the concept and the world, and D&D belongs to WotC... I think... Below is his personal pledge.

If you read this story, please review it, I insist. It's one thing to know that someone has read your story, and another to have constructive criticism.

The world I am using is my own, so if any details are sketchy I may explain them at a later date as part of the story.

Also, please be brutally honest.

T.E Azan

**Oath**

**Chapter 1: Standing Ground**

Such brutality had I not witnessed before. Our small village, a pitiful prize for even the lowliest of bandits, was struck in the night- they came from the edge of the forest, as quiet as a mouse scurrying around the roots of a long dead tree.

I was asleep in my tree at the time. After cooing the children to sleep, I went to bed myself, glancing out of the hollowed out window. The night, beckoning to me, telling me to forget the children and hunt, be free in the forest, and be _one _with the forest.

I turned my head. Such is the lure for a pure bred Elf. The call is always there, silent at first, but slowly building into a raging inferno of wanton chaos.

That is why I followed the way of Riadenal. My mother had lost her mind to the forest, eventually taking her own life in her lust for freedom. Riadenal is the Saviour, the God of Valour, Law and Mounted Combat. Since Mother's death, I have been a paladin of his cause.

To my friends and distant family, this has made me an outcast in their eyes. I did not follow the ways of Gerthen, the Earth Lord. But a paladin casts her eye away from such rejection- I could give myself only to Him.

I awoke with my head searing in pain, and the smell of burning coming to my nose. Above me stood a hideous man, his face wracked with scars and his eyes full of blood rage. He had hit me with his club.

"Who are you?" I whispered, drawing my knife from the side of the pillow with my right arm, which had sprawled to the side in the night.

"Quiet, bitch. You're lucky you're alive- but you're going to wish you were dead after I've raped the hell out of you…" he said, a grin emerging on his face.

I pulled the knife out from under the pillow, hurled off the covers and lashed a kick at his temple. Not being one for unarmed combat, I missed, but it was a feint. He lunged with his club clumsily, and I dodged to the side. He had fallen onto the end of my bed.

In silence, I gripped the back of his neck, ignoring the foul gaping wounds in his flesh- possibly from earlier battles- and drew the knife across the front side of it.

"So what are you gonna do, huh, bitch? You're going to kill me?"

"Precisely." I breathed, and slashed. Foul, corrupted blood spurted onto my bed sheets, and I cringed. Who were these intruders?

I whipped open my chest and took all the equipment out of it- my trusty mace, Oath, a mace forged by my father, fitted perfectly into my hands. I strapped my training armour (just a simple breastplate) on, not willing to put on my full gear when lives were possibly at stake…

_The children! _my mind screamed to me, and I went into their rooms. Alsin and Devia slept peacefully, oblivious of the death and destruction surrounding them. I smiled a small smile, and then sprinted downstairs, my mind screaming for blood.

I was greeted with a harsh, raging inferno, engulfing the village. From the east marched a grim raiding party- up front were masses of undead abominations, shambling and groaning an unholy lament. Behind them were armoured regiments with pole arms, cackling and howling. Some humans had already breached our poor defences- our militia was in tatters, beating down the zombies with righteous vigour, only to be bitten from behind.

About twenty zombies branched off from the horde of soldiers and went towards my home, sensing the hot, brash blood that I had and the young born who had just awoken. I had locked them in for there own safety- what little they had.

I screamed a war-cry I did not even know I had heard and swung upwards at a zombie, taking off his face in a gruesome blow. It howled in agony and collapsed backwards.

"Back!" I cried, and swung sideways this time, fending off the three who had taken his place. They clumsily fell back to dodge the blow, and succeeded. My arm was in pain from the weight of Oath, and my discipline had gone out of the window. My mind was searing with thoughts, worries and fears which I had only just encountered, just faced, and one emotion rose above them all: hatred. Hatred for these damned people, who dared to attack my home, my people!  
"_Smite evil!" _I shouted, and did a downwards swing unto the group of zombies. I was soon embroiled in their deathly embrace. I could not swing Oath, my arms were being pinned and I soon collapsed against the steps of my home. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my husband fighting at the gate against the armoured humans, but he was cast down with one blow- he was no warrior. His eyes rolled back into his head and his blood seeped into the soil. He was dead.

I sobbed as I was bitten on the neck by one of the undead beasts and left to die. The bite they gave was cold and bitter, and I heard the tearing of flesh as they feasted. My strength grew weaker and weaker, until I could take no more and slipped into what I thought was unconsciousness. Sounds grew duller and duller and faded into nothing, like petals floating in a heavy breeze, going to distant lands unknown.

The last thing I heard was the slow cackling of someone- possibly Human- and the death cries of my husband. I could hear weeping and screaming from within my home.

My children…. my children!  
I pushed all my energy into my legs, but still I could not move. Damn the undead! Damn their eyes! In my mind, I swore an oath to myself. An oath to rid the world of these creatures, these vestiges of rot and decay. They had killed my family, and I would respond in kind by killing them, their kindred. Those who had created them I would not pity or forgive, but only respond with the utmost courage to purify their kind of all evil they had incubated over the years.


	2. Consequences

Well, codename Azan been busy ain't he? And I've been siting here on my lazy arse posting others good work and giving them the credit... Probably should get around to writing the rest of The Riftkeeper.

Hopefully there'll be an advance with these two strories... I will never abandon Riftkeeper, its too much fun, but again I'm not sure I could do it... Quickly.

My friend owns everything here apart from anything that came out of a D&D sourcebook. I own the account.

Speaking of Azan, he got another message for you.

A new update. Same as before, review and be harsh/kind as you will. I'll likely be updating once every week, but don't hold me to that. Thanks for taking an interest- Azan

Ooo a promise...

Enjoy.

**Chapter 2: Consequences**

I awoke to the hard beat of horse hooves thumping on the ground and the soft ruffle of the mount's snorts ruffling its nostrils. I rubbed my neck, and felt a soft bandage there- thank Riadenal for that. The wounds I had were large and deep, and I was thankful I had survived at all, let alone be rescued.  
"You're awake." said the person riding the horse, whose face I could not see. Long, brown hair whipped about behind him, lashing the space in front of me.

"Who are you?" I demanded, putting on a confident tone. In truth, my throat was extremely sore and I was sore all over.

"Your rescuer." he replied. "I guess I could say that you owe me."

"You haven't answered my question."

He twisted in the saddle, the leather armour he was wearing squeaking with the stretch. "Marcus. You?"  
"Lúthiena." I whispered. "Lúthiena Míriel."

"A pleasure to speak to you, Lúthiena." said Marcus, turning forwards again.

_A Human? In the woods? Wow…. I never expected them to be so… well, normal. _my mind thought, debating several ways of action. Marcus interrupted me.

"I'm not your foe, Lúthiena," he said, almost to himself. "I am not a bad man…. I earn my keep, I save some innocents from the Puppetmaster, and all I get in return is distrust….. You do know Burden is now at war with Delfayre?"  
Burden. The Lost Country. Home of all manner of evil souls, striving for their master's evil gains. Delfayre, my home and the land of the Elves, lies right next to it. It was only a matter of time before they had attacked us… but it had been so sudden, for an army consisting of undead.

"And how did you rescue me?"

"Cut 'em all down with my little toenail, sister." he said, and paused. I raised my eyebrows.

"God, you Elves are as stale as a two year old hunk of bread. It's a joke, Ears. Deal with it."

It was strange. His humour had suddenly erupted out of nowhere, leading me to be suspicious of him.

"Are you hiding something?" I said, quite harshly.

He halted the horse next to a clump of grass and it dumped its head to feed.

"An inn's nearby." he muttered, attaching his sword to his belt. "And we need to find an apothecary for your wound."  
"Why not a priest?"

He began laughing. "I'd rather trust someone who has a way with humans than a way with 'Gods'."  
I frowned at this comment. Clearly the man was a faithless bastard. Truly, he was quite attractive in my eyes, but his attitude and behaviour towards the Gods was truly despicable.

The sun had just set, and Marcus led his horse by the reins to the inn he had mentioned, tethering the horse tightly to a fence post. He gave me a small smile and walked in. I stared back at the horse, which was eating clumps of grass again. At the side of the horse Marcus had put my real armour, my half-plate, greaves and boots, and Oath, who glowed dimly in the bag.

_How did he get my belongings from my room? _I wondered, almost aloud.

I shook my head. _He has offered you hospitality. Be grateful._ Steeling myself, I dragged my hood over my ears and long silver hair and walked inside.

I was greeted by a torrent of warmth, the smell of alcohol, and expensive perfumes and spices. It seemed that Marcus knew his inns, and I wasn't going to question his taste. I suppose it's better to be amongst a rich crowd than a crowd with bad breath, disease and a habit of drinking too much.

Marcus dragged himself up onto a seat and asked the barman for two beers and a room. I got a closer look at the man who was my supposed saviour. His small, wistful beard and aura of confidence stood out in the crowd- whether it was wanted or unwanted. Still at his side was the ornate sword, possibly of army origin. I guessed that he must have been a looter or a bandit who had taken pity on the pretty Elven woman. Either way, he was my saviour- and I had to be appreciative of his act, no matter how despicable he may have been.

As I sat on the bar stool, the barman (a short, cheerful Dwarf) handed me a flagon of beer. I smiled weakly, as I never accept beer: I find the stuff absolutely disgusting. I drank to keep Marcus pleased, who had bought it for me, after all.

"There's a healer working to the south, an old friend of mine. He should be able to fix you up." said Marcus, sipping his beer.

"But it's only a few flesh wounds," I said, and then paused. "There's something else wrong. Tell me."

Marcus said nothing, and then drunk a large amount of beer. "Trust me, Lúthiena, you will not like the news I will give you."

"_Tell me." _I said, harshly now. "My children and my husband are _dead, _and whatever revenge I can give will please me no end. If this knowledge harms my quest to avenge, then there will be hell to pay."

Marcus sighed and turned to me. He tried to feel a wisp of my long hair, just visible underneath my crimson hood, but I batted his hand away in annoyance.

"You have…. Lost some of your strength, Lúthiena. To the Death Rot."


	3. Vengeance

Hello, this is Azan. I've decided to take liberties with Exdaemon's account and spare you his drivel, heh heh. Anyhow, I've been working on the development of Oath for a while, so that's why the update has been a long time coming. Sorry about that- I promise that Oath will be developing much faster from now on. This can definately be classified as 'filler'; I am building up to more... let's say 'adventurous' updates.

As always, keep reading and tell me what you think.

- T.E. Azan

__

__

_**Chapter 3: Vengeance**_

I paused, and looked into my beer. Now the swelling flagon seemed a lot more inviting.

"Markus… you're lying." I murmured. I _knew _about the Death Rot, from what I'd read from various temple articles on magical disease. The Death Rot, as it had been dubbed over the years by peasants, had killed many victims of undead attacks. It chaps the skin, which takes about a month, and then eventually alters every figment of the body, corrupting it from the inside until the victim looks like a zombie herself.

So I had about a month before I became a zombie in a coffin.

…

_BY RIADENAL, WHY NOW, WHY NOW, OF ALL TIMES- THRICE CURSE THE UNDEAD, I WILL REND THEM LIMB FROM LIMB, I-_

Patience. Calm. The Chivalrous Father had taught me these skills, and I abused them.

Markus sighed and flung a dirty brass key across the bar, which clanged against my flagon.

"Your room," he muttered, and heaved himself off his barstool and up the stairs, presumably to his own room. "We leave tomorrow morning, for your cure."

"Good night." I said, and I got no further reply from the stairs.

I began to think about my plan, or the lack of it. Here I was, carting myself off with a complete stranger, possibly one who did not share my faith. Was it customary to travel with mysterious strangers in these parts? It was true that I had never been very far from the village, and the times that I saw someone who wasn't an Elf were very rare; and all the other races I saw were Half-Elves.

But I digress. Riadenal favours tactics, and I am a Champion of Him, so I needed to think tactically. Markus looked like he could be of use to me. He obviously knew the roads well, and obviously was experienced. I, as a complete stranger to this new world, needed him.

But did he need me?

It was not beyond my mind that Markus would not hesitate to leave me somewhere once I had lost my usefulness or interest to him. He seemed a rough sort- a criminal, perhaps, or a soldier.

So _why did he let me come with him?_

Attraction, perhaps. Yes, that could have been it. He was attracted to me. I found it particularly cute, but nevertheless something I could use to my advantage. Although deception isn't exactly chivalrous, could it be counted as a military tactic?  
_Gnnnnurgh. _I slammed my palm against my head and groaned loudly. It was too late to argue semantics with my own brain. I heaved myself off of the bar stool, swiping the key from the counter, and headed upstairs, entering my room soon after.

The room was far from what I'd been used to do in the forest. The bed was quite lavish, scented with light herbs which I not smelt before. I took off my armour and laid Oath against the wall, where its light dimmed, as if it itself was being laid to rest.

I closed my eyes and descended into dream, trying to let the worries of my mind be swept away with the cool, calm waves of my inner conscience.


End file.
